David St. John’s new poem Without Mercy, the Rains Continued sums up the silence imbibed via feeding tube from a husband who would not initiate conversation with his wife.  “The Rains” in the title refer to the static on a recording.

There had been
A microphone hidden

Beneath the bed
Of course I didn’t realize it

The potent image of a lonely ex-husband pulling out a microphone, yards of wire and a recording system from beneath the bed places second only to the merciless rainstorm of white noise on the recording he receives…

A “khaki book mailer” arrives, inside taunts emptiness and an “old stained cassette tape.”  This, like all trinkets of bitterness and love, symbolizes the missing link, the piece our narrator searched for across the chasm of time, the line called love:

“Him/Me/September 1975”
& as I listened I knew something

Had been asked of me
Across the years & the loneliness

To which I simply responded
With the same barely audible

Silence I had chosen then.

It might seem cruel and unusual, perhaps, to compare St. John  to John Mayer, but I will dare.  Mayer chills me even today with his song, “Say”, compelling half of the us to make a bucket list and tell someone we love them, tell someone we’re sorry, ask someone for forgiveness.  Both Johns push us to break the silence and not be like that guy who got a tape in the mail.

And I, as a husband, hope to initiate conversation more often.  Prayer too.